


The Winter Soldier: Captain America

by Ziel_Starfallen



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1767067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziel_Starfallen/pseuds/Ziel_Starfallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"According to Pierce, everything I do shapes the century. I am vital to the advancement of order. They call me a ghost. Maybe that's all I am."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fury

I wait.  Those are my orders. If he reaches my position alive, my mission is to eliminate a Nicholas J. Fury.  Pierce says he is an enemy of the peace.  They always are.  According to Pierce, everything I do shapes the century.  I am vital to the advancement of order.  If I complete the mission, they put me back in cryofreeze.  If I fail, I am punished, then put back in cryofreeze.  There is nothing more for me.  There never has been.  I am a weapon, nothing more.  My earpiece crackles to life.

_Target has survived.  Engage._

New orders.  I stand, the familiar hardness of my grenade launcher in my hands.  Of course, I can only feel that with one hand. Metal arms aren’t known for their tactile abilities.  I jump off the fire escape I have been waiting on, calmly walking down the center of the street.  The black van comes into view, riddled with bullet holes. I stop, raise my grenade launcher, and fire.  It hits its mark, exactly as it has done a thousand times before.  The van explodes from beneath, flipping over before sliding a few hundred feet.  I calmly walk forward, the grenade launcher hanging idly from my hand.  By the time I reach the car, Fury is gone.  All that’s left of him is a hole burned through the side of the car into the street.  The metal is still red.  He can’t have gotten far.  I calmly walk past the civilians, melting into the darkness of the back alleys.  Failure isn’t an option.  

   It is night.  Using the infrared setting on my goggles, I have tracked Fury’s heat remnants to an apartment complex near the edge of town.  He must have gone inside.  As I stand on the roof opposite the building, I turn my eyes to the building.  With my infrared setting still on, I can see two figures inside the nearest apartment, one sitting, one standing.  The standing one had been sneaking around a second ago, as if he didn’t expect the other.  Perhaps this uninvited guest was Fury. As the sitting figure stands, I catch a glimpse of an eyepatch, dark against the warmth of his face.  It’s Fury.  I take off my goggles, putting them in a pouch at my hip.  I quickly bring out one of my longer range handguns, attaching its infrared scope.  I move to the edge of the roof to get as close to the target as possible.  I look through my scope, reorienting myself from this new position.  Now I was behind Fury.  I aim, holding the gun with two hands, and fire three rounds into Fury’s back.  I see him stagger, then fall.  It’s done.  My mission is over.  Now I must return to base.  Something tells me the other in the apartment will follow me.  I run. I run, streaking across rooftops, but as I pass windows, I catch glimpses of him in pursuit.  He is strong and fast, like me.  Can’t think about him now.  I just have to run.  I leap across a gap between two rooftops, rolling to avoid injury.  I hear him break through a window behind me.  I run faster.  I hear a projectile hurtling towards me, and I turn at the precise moment to intercept it with my metal arm.  It is a round shield, red, white, and blue, with a star in the center.  They had warned me of a man with a shield.  They said he might try to interfere.  As I look up, our eyes meet.  He is a muscular man, with tousled blond hair.  My eyes soften slightly.  Something whispers that he doesn’t want to hurt me, but who am I to tell? I don’t know anything.  I throw his shield back at him with a burst of power, then run, jumping over the edge of the roof.  I melt into the darkness, heading for base.  They call me a ghost.  Maybe that’s all I am.    

 

 

 

 


	2. Pierce

I am the shadows. They told me to report here. I don’t know why I’m here, but I don’t care. I don’t know why I don’t care... My eyes flick up from studying the design of the table, as I hear someone approaching. As he rounds the corner, I see that it is Pierce. He is surprised to see me. That’s evident on his face. So I wasn’t expected. The voice of his maid vaguely registers in my ears.  
“Do you need anything before I leave?”  
“No, Renata, you can go home.” Pierce replies, never taking his eyes off me.  
“Goodnight, Mr. Pierce.”  
“Goodnight, Renata.”  
I hear the door close in the distance. Pierce moves to the refrigerator. I watch him, only my deep blue eyes moving.  
“Want some milk?” he asks, smiling slightly.   
I don’t understand the concept of wanting. I silently watch him, waiting for a command. He fills his own glass of milk, walking over to the table and sitting across from me.   
“I need you to eliminate two targets. They already cost me Zola.” He says, pushing two photos across the table towards me.  
I pull them closer with a small movement of my right arm, feeling their sheen under my fingers. One is a woman the photo identifies as Natasha Romanov. I will be briefed on her later, most likely. I glance over to the second photo. This is of the man from the roof. The same blonde hair, and the same deep blue eyes. They bring with them a strange sensation. Something I haven’t felt in a long time… It is quickly stifled. He is the target. He is an enemy. My mission is to eliminate him, nothing more, nothing less. I look up as I hear footsteps rounding the bend again. Renata has returned, and it is obvious from her casual demeanor that she hasn’t looked up yet.   
“I forgot my... phone...” she trails off as she looks up from her purse to see Pierce and I. “Mr. Pierce?”  
Pierce closes his eyes in an annoyed sort of way. “Oh, Renata…” he calmly picks up the handgun sitting on the table between us, “I really wish you would have knocked.” He fires two rounds into her chest as she utters a strangled shriek. I watch, silent and stoic. Winter does not feel.


	3. The Bridge

     Once again, the orders have changed. Now there are three targets, instead of two. Not simply the targets from the photos, but also Agent Sitwell. He has been captured by the Captain and Romanov, endangering the entire mission. No one knows how much he’s said, or if he’s with the fugitives willingly or by force, but Pierce and the others don’t care. They want him dead, and the work falls to me, the fist of Hydra. I pack an arsenal, just in case, by some unforeseen circumstance, my first attack fails. I climb into the back seat of the black jeep that will carry me to my target. I can’t run everywhere. I sit calmly, my mind blank for a few seconds. I run through my mission in my mind, thinking of all possible variables, and accounting for each one. Every avenue is blocked for my targets. I anticipate their every move, and create a plan to counter it. Nothing can go wrong. I am invincible.  
    The man in the passenger’s seat listens to his earpiece, then turns his head towards me. “Targets are on the run. We’ll get you behind them, then you jump the car.”  
I nod slightly, running more scenarios. They can’t be allowed to escape. We’re coming up on a small black car, and the agent motions for me to go. I open the door, swinging onto the roof with some cybernetic assistance. I hear in my earpiece that Agent Sitwell is in the back left seat. Using all my stealth skills, I leap onto the black car’s roof. The glass of the window shatters as I throw Sitwell out of the car and into the oncoming traffic on the other side of the highway. One target down. I regain my center on the roof, then pull out a handgun, shooting one shot into each of the remaining seats. Three others down. Or so I thought. Apparently they managed to anticipate my attack, because they slam on the brakes, stopping short and throwing me off the roof onto the pavement. I instinctively curl into a ball at the right moment, rolling to break my fall. I dig my metal hand into the tarmac, sparks flying as I adjust my center of gravity to avoid rolling again from my momentum. Once I stop, I stand slowly, locking my gaze on the stopped black car a few hundred feet from me. My command jeep hurtles towards it, smashing into the small car with devastating force. They keep driving, pushing my targets towards me. At the exact right second, I leap into the air, catching the front of the windshield, and flipping onto the roof. I feel my boots punch through what’s left of the back windshield, my body slapping onto the roof, only mildly cushioned by my body armor. I pull my legs under me, regaining my balance and switching which hand is my anchor. Smashing through the windshield with my newly freed metal arm, I firmly grasp the steering wheel and wrench it out of the car. I can hear the distress in the driver’s voice, jumping back onto the jeep’s hood as I hear shots hurtle by my ear. I anchor myself to the jeep by my left arm, bracing myself as we rammed into the much smaller, already smashed up target car. The force of the collision pushes the car out of control. I can tell it will only be a few seconds before it will be thrown into a deadly roll. Any normal targets will be dead soon. Any normal targets. These targets aren’t normal. They have the man with the shield, and whoever he is, he is definitely not normal.

     They manage to escape the rolling, bouncing wreck somehow. I think the blonde man smashed off a door with his shield. The wreck spins away in front of us, but the targets slide slower, falling behind us. Romanov and the Captain slide on the shield, while the driver rolls on the bare pavement. We stop at roughly the same time as the targets, disembarking quickly. I calmly take the grenade launcher offered by one of my team members, shifting my gaze to the Captain and Romanov, who are just standing up after their tumble. I raise my grenade launcher smoothly and fire directly at the pair, hoping to catch them both in the explosion. The Captain pushes Romanov, and she runs out of the way, while he takes the full blast on his shield. The energy of the explosion throws him over the side of the bridge, so we turn our attention to Romanov and the driver. As my team lays down a wall of machine gun fire, I calmly stride forward in front of them, my eyes searching for the perfect bead on Romanov. I spot her rising to take a shot at us, which makes her vulnerable, if only for a second. A second, however, is all I need. I get off a shot, but in the explosion, I see her vault over the small wall onto the other side of the bridge. She runs, dodging gunfire, but still mostly in the open. As she runs behind a small car, I send a grenade straight at it, creating a huge fireball directly intercepting her path. I don’t, however, suppose that she was stopped by the explosion. Judging from my briefing on her, she is crafty and resourceful. I have to make sure she’s dead.

     I walk towards the opposite wall of the bridge, and as I drop my grenade launcher, a team member hands me his machine gun. I take it without breaking stride, setting up on the wall, ready to quickly change my aim based on where Romanov appears. A flash of movement behind a crashed bus below catches my eye, and I begin to raise my gun towards it, but the ring of gunshots and an unexpected impairment of my vision cause me to instinctively turn, ducking behind the wall. I realize my goggles are cracked, so I remove them. I sit for mere seconds, and my brain processes the stimuli it had just received. Gunshots, vision impairment, cracked goggles… She shot me in the face. I underestimated her. The thought angers me. I don’t make mistakes. I burst up from behind the wall, firing more recklessly than usual. She ducks behind obstructions as I fire at her, and I pull back as she fires at me. One of my team members shows up beside me, firing at her as I pause, watching her run out of range. I don’t take my eyes off her as I address him in Russian. “I’ll take her. You go after him.” He nods, and I vault over the side of the bridge, dropping onto a car below to break my fall. I walk forward confidently, my mind set on only one thing: Romanov’s imminent demise. She tries to hide, but my piercing blue eyes catch flashes of black in between cars. A police car crossing my path is only an annoyance. I shoot the gas tank casually, and the cruiser becomes a flaming wreck. I cock my machine gun, preparing to fire again when I next see Romanov. As I walk down the now-quiet street, I hear the murmur of a voice behind a silver minivan. A female voice. Romanov is here. I silently crouch, pulling out a small, round grenade and carefully rolling it under the van to the origin point of the voice. I stand, watching the car turn into a huge fireball. Not even Romanov could have escaped that. I turn, lowering my gun, only to be caught completely off guard by none other than Romanov herself kicking my gun out of my hands. She lands on my shoulders, quickly pulling out a wire to strangle me. My instincts kick in just in time for me to get my hands in between the wire and my neck. I fight her, backing us into a car. I get a firm grip on the wire, then jolt my whole body forwards, yanking on the wire.  This sends her flying into the car in front of us, and she groans.  I quickly retrieve my gun from the street, preparing to take the shot, but before I can, she manages to throw something at me.  I don’t know what it is until I feel my left arm go limp with a sparking sound.  She runs, leaving me behind.  I study the EMP for a split second before ripping it off.  The feeling of life slowly returns to my arm, and I flex my fingers slowly, then rotate my shoulder, snapping it back to life with a satisfying whirr.  She isn’t hard to follow, as she is trying loudly to warn off civilians.  I target her by sound and a flash of black, firing one shot.  Her cry of pain and surprise confirms the hit.  I follow her, looping around to cut her off, and as I climb onto the hood of a car, I see her leaning against another car, hiding.  I aim, about to finish her, when I see a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. 

     I turn just in time to see the man with the shield, obviously coming to rescue his friend.  I round on him with a powerful punch from my metal arm, but he blocks it with his shield.  I pull back, knocking the shield aside and kicking him back with enough power that I fall too.  I sit up, firing multiple rounds at him, which he simply blocks with the shield.  My rifle is finally out of ammo, so I pull my automatic handgun from its holster on my back.  I keep firing as he ducks behind cars, but as I come up on him, he kicks it out of my hand.  In one smooth motion I draw the glock at my hip, shooting him at point-blank range, but only hitting his shield.  He punches me in the face, also managing to knock my glock away.  I grab his shield with my metal arm.  Perhaps if I rid him of his defense, he will be easier to beat.  I land a punch to his face, trying to make him drop it, then start twisting his arm.  He flips to escape my grasp, but now I possess his shield.  He tries to land a few punches and kicks, but I block them easily.  He rolls backwards from a failed attempt, and as he rises, our eyes briefly lock.  Again, the feeling of something I can’t identify.  I brush it away.  He runs at me, and I throw the shield in a powerful burst that just misses his head.  Instead it buries itself in a van behind him.  Since he has managed to knock away all my firearms, I pull out a smaller piece of hand-to-hand weaponry, a knife.  I slice, he blocks, I move, he counters.  It is almost more of a dance than a fight.  Dance… That is a word that is somehow brought back by this man.  I’m not quite sure what it means.  Not that it matters.  He lands a punch in my face, then a kick to the abdomen, knocking away my knife and throwing me against a van behind us.  He smashes his knee into me again before I bound up, trying to grab him by the shoulders, but instead finding myself thrown to the ground.  I rebound to my feet, grasping him by the throat with my metal arm.  I could just crush his throat now and be done with it, but the something whispers not to.  His eyes hold the only fear I have seen from him thus far.  I should kill him, but instead I throw him to the ground, over the hood of a truck.  I leap onto it, using my elevation to deliver a crushing metal punch that will split his skull, but he rolls aside a split second before I land.  Annoyance at his resilience begins to turn into rage, and as he tries to fight me again, I block with a vengeance, pulling out my second and final knife as I knock him into a gray van.  I fight to slit his throat, but instead cut only the metal of the van as we slide across it.  He lifts me, throwing me backwards to the ground, and while I recover, retrieves his shield from where it lodged earlier.  We fight again, with me stabbing and him blocking and each of us occasionally landing a punch.  He somehow gets behind me, and as I turn around, he drives his shield into my cybernetic arm, causing an awful shriek of pain from its machinery. I jerk backwards, hitting him in the face with the back of my head, and as I do, he grabs my shoulder.  I flip to escape, but it is a sloppy, desperate tactic, which lands me in a roll instead of neatly on my feet.  I feel my mask come loose as I roll, and growl mentally.  First the goggles, now the mask… I look back at the man, waiting for his next attack, but his expression is mystifying.  He looks almost… I search for the word.  Betrayed? Yes, betrayed, and also a little bit shell-shocked.  But why?  We don’t know each other. Do we?

            His face softens slightly, looking as confused and lost as I am. “Bucky?” he asks, his voice almost quavering.

            “Who the hell is Bucky?” I respond, my inner confusion beginning to manifest in my eyes.  I don’t have time to listen for a response, because something comes behind me and knocks me off my feet. When I look up, it seems to be the driver, only now he has wings.  None of that matters now, though.  My entire soul, my whole essence has boiled down to one question: Who the hell is Bucky? Whispers from my lost self are beginning to stir, and it terrifies me.  Whatever is happening, everything I am screams that it is wrong.  I live for missions.  I am the Winter Soldier, not this Bucky, whoever he is.   But if that is true, why does something else whisper that this is right, that somehow I am? As my eyes settle back on the man with the shield, I can almost sense a name.  A familiar and cherished name, but it fades before I can hear it.  I remember a shadow.  More of a feeling than a memory, really.  I remember feeling safe.  Safe.  Another word that this man has brought into my mind.  I want to stay, to find out what it means to be safe.  I know in my heart that this man could remind me somehow.  In the middle of my inner turmoil, I see a grenade flying towards me.  Snapped out of reverie by the force of survival, I bolt into the street, towards base.  I don’t look back.  Safety is not an option.  Not for me.  It never has been.              

 

 


	4. Memory

     I stare blankly at the grey concrete floor.  The sparking sounds coming from my left are the only things that make me aware of the technicians working on my arm.  The whispers have become a constant roaring in my ears, and all at once, I am no longer in the command room. 

     A face looms over me, and I hear a cold voice say, “Sergeant Barnes…”

 

    The scene shifts.   

 

     A train rushes down a snowy track.  I cling desperately to the side, nothing below me for hundreds of feet.  The blonde man is there again, looking to me with fear in his eyes. He reaches for me, trying to catch my hand, but my anchor gives way, plunging me into an endless abyss of white.  I scream, and I faintly hear the blonde man scream, too. 

     “Bucky! No!”

    The next sequence of memories moves quickly.  Someone is dragging me, and the stump of my left arm leaves a red trail in the snow.  As a saw cuts through what’s left of it, I hear the same cold voice from earlier saying, “The procedure has already started.” 

     I study my mismatched hands, flesh and machinery.

     “You are to be the new fist of Hydra.”

     My mind brands the people around me as dangerous, and I grab the nearest one by his throat.  It is only a few seconds before someone sedates me. 

     “Put him on ice.”

     My last memory is freezing in a metal container far too small for me.  I reach for the glass as a last hope of escape, but the cold is slowing time, and the last thing I see is my own pleading face reflected in the icy glass.

     In the real world, I violently lash out at the technicians and throw them across the room.  I hardly notice my actions, even when I hear the harsh clicking of every gun in the room being primed and aimed at me.  They don’t matter right now. Every muscle in my body is tense, and my breathing is heavy.  What is happening to me?  With each new memory, my mind is being shredded.  I can’t take any more of this, but at the same time I don’t want it to stop.  Something is there, just out of reach.  Something important.  I can feel it. Pierce’s voice vaguely registers in my ears, demanding a mission report, but I can’t respond.  I am trapped in my own mind.  A backhanded slap across my face brings me crashing back to reality.  Questions fill my mind.  One question in particular pushes to the front. 

     “The man on the bridge…” I remember his face, so pleading… His lips move without sound in the crypt of my broken mind, “Who was he?”

     “You met him earlier this week on another assignment.”

     Yes, this man is from earlier.  Not earlier this week, but earlier in time.  Before what I can remember.

     “I knew him.”

     Pierce sits in front of me.  His lips move, but I don’t hear him.  My mind has clasped on to the only thing I know for certain, and it echoes like a drumbeat.  I knew him, I knew him, I knew him.  The drumbeat intensifies, drowning out everything else, and I search for more, but all I find is a blank wall.  Pierce has finished, and waits for my response.  The only words I can find are a pleading reprise of the relentless cadence.

     “But I knew him.”

     I smile slightly, sadly.  I am trapped in limbo.  I finally know something for sure, but not enough to break free of the abyss.  I struggle to find something more, anything that will finally give me freedom, but nothing comes.  I hear voices, but not what they say.  I am pushed back in the chair.  I do not resist. They offer me a rubber paddle to put in my mouth.  I accept.  These things are familiar, but I do not remember them. As restraints clamp around my arms, all I feel is paralyzing fear.  Something in me does remember.  It remembers pain and loss… And a name.  Steve.  Steve will save me.  He always does.  My breathing quickens as two more pieces close in around my face.  Where is Steve?  He should be here by now! And in the last terrifying seconds of my memory, as pain like nothing I’ve ever experienced rips into my skull, I realize, he isn’t coming.  Not this time.  I scream, but no one hears. I am utterly alone, and as my memories are slowly and excruciatingly torn from my grasp, I stop caring. 

     I am the Winter Soldier, and I am always alone.

 

   


	5. Air Support

I have a new mission, though it seems somehow familiar.  I am to eliminate Captain America and all who sympathize with him.  He cannot be allowed to interfere with HYDRA’s plans. 

As the door to the fight deck opens, I hear a squadron leader call, “SHIELD pilots, scramble! We’re the only air support Captain Rogers is gonna have!”

            Rebel agents.  They chose the wrong side, and they will pay for it.  One of the jets is already in the air, and I shoot it down with my grenade launcher.  They turn, obviously not expecting my presence. I walk through the smoke, firing in different directions to scatter rebel groups.  They are blown backwards, away, onto the ground, some never to rise again.  I change weapons, pulling out my machine gun as I begin to engage individual targets. One agent readies a grenade.  I efficiently shoot him in the neck, ignoring his death gurgles as I pick up his fallen grenade and throw it into the closing bay of another jet. I block an agent’s fire with my left arm, then break his neck with a hard strike. Another agent stands before me, but, before he can fire, I kick him square in the chest, sending him flying into the nearest jet engine.  I see the final intact jet beginning to take off, and I sprint towards it, leaping onto the glass cockpit.  I fire two shots into the pilot’s head, then rip off the top of the cockpit, pushing the pilot out before taking his place.  I instinctively know how to pilot the jet, and take off, glancing up at the last intact helicarrier before I turn the jet towards it.  There rests my final assignment.  My greatest challenge.  I cannot fail.  The world order depends on it.


	6. Falcon

 

        I am on the last helicarrier.  Following the Captain’s path, this is the next place he will go.  I hear him and his friend, designated Falcon, land on the deck.  I wait in the shadow of a large container, just out of their line of sight.  Surprise is my greatest weapon.  As the Captain enters my line of sight, I throw my entire weight at him, pushing him through the rail and off the helicarrier deck.  His winged friend shouts his name, moving to dive for him.  I grab his wing, pulling him back and onto the deck.  That name seemed familiar…  He catches himself and pulls out dual pistols in one smooth motion, hovering above me.  My training kicks in, and I jump and twist to avoid his semi-automatic fire, ducking behind another structure on the deck. All other thoughts vanish in the heat of battle.  He begins flying away, but before he can get far, I send a metal hook shooting into his wing, pulling him down onto the deck. I yank the hook, ripping off the wing, then sprint towards him before he can recover.  He moves to his feet, but I kick him squarely in the chest, sending him off the side after his friend.  I watch him fall, landing on the ground, but as I turn to go, I catch a glimpse of movement on the helicarrier wing below.  It’s the Captain.  So he hadn’t fallen to his death.  I turn, running into the helicarrier.  I know where he’s heading, and I will be waiting.  This will be his last stand.  This time, I will complete my mission.


	7. My Mission

 

I’ve made it to the main computer terminal before the Captain, as I predicted.  I see a flash of red, white, and blue, and then he’s here.  He moves quickly down the stairs, but stops short as he sees me.  There is something about his eyes, something that shouldn’t be.  He doesn’t seem frightened or angry.  He seems sad.  Resigned even.  Does he know he’s coming to his death?

“People are gonna die, Buck.” he says, almost pleading with me, “I can’t let that happen.”

He is here to kill me.  I am here to kill him.  Yet he does not wish to harm me.  I can see it in his eyes.  He thinks I am “Buck”.  But I am not.  I am the Winter Soldier, and I do not feel.  I don’t know him, nor do I know this “Buck” he speaks of.  I must fulfill my mission.  I stand, unmoved, in his path.  Hail Hydra.

“Please don’t make me do this.” he begs, his voice almost breaking.

I stare into his eyes, waiting for his first move.  The silence is charged with electricity, just waiting to explode.  Suddenly, it does.  The Captain throws his shield across the short distance between us.  I deflect it off my left arm, pulling out my pistols and shooting.  He blocks most of the shots with his shield, but as he gets closer, one shot grazes his arm.  I see him flinch, but he reacts quickly, slamming his shield into my face.  It throws me back towards the terminal and knocks my guns away.  I pull out a knife, advancing again, this time watching his shield more carefully. I try to stab him, throwing punches and kicks.  He unexpectedly blocks with the shield, and the recoil of my cybernetic arm glancing off the hard surface throws me off-balance.  The Captain has time to touch something on the panel, but when he turns around, I am there again, attacking like a savage animal.  We come to a short standoff, holding each other’s weapons, staring into each other’s eyes.  As I readjust my left arm, the Captain manages to knock the knife out of my hand and kicks me squarely in the chest, which sends me stumbling backwards. He touches the panel again, this time removing a chip.  He turns just in time to intercept my metal punch with his shield.  We fight on a narrow walkway over a platform below.  He hits me in the face, knocking me back, and I charge him with a growl, throwing us both over the rail.  We land on the platform at the same time, and a computer chip lands behind us.  I know he needs it to carry out his plan.  I need to get it.  We fight, unarmed combat now, man against man.  I knock him backwards with a powerful blow, and he twists in air, sliding down the narrow platform and grabbing the chip.  I slide after him, determined to retrieve it.  He stands as I reach him, and in our brief struggle, I manage to knock the chip out of his hand.  He knocks me down with a blow to the face, kicking me off the platform to the glass floor below.  He jumps down after me, then runs toward the chip, but I find his abandoned shield near me and throw it at him, hitting him squarely in the back.  He falls, but retrieves the shield in time to block my fire.  He throws it back, and I deflect.  I pull out my last knife, charging him.  He grabs my arms, and we struggle, but I manage to stab the knife into his shoulder, prompting a cry of pain.  He slams his head into mine, escaping my grasp momentarily. Meanwhile, I dive for the chip, grabbing it before he can reach me.  He does reach me, though, and grabs me by the throat, lifting me into the air.  I grunt, and he throws me to the ground, slamming me on my back.  He pins me to the ground, one arm locking my hand with the chip, the other hand pushing my head down.

“Drop it!” he commands.

I struggle, fighting to escape.

“Drop it!” he repeats, this time more urgent.

I continue to fight.  He pushes hard against my head, and a crack echoes through the air, accompanied by a shooting pain.  I cry out, fighting harder. He pulls us down, locking my head in a choke hold.  I struggle to pull his hand away, all the while fighting for breath.  I almost pull one hand away, but he locks my metal arm under his leg.  I struggle for a few more moments, but as black begins encroaching on my vision, I know this is the end.  My last mission ends in failure.  As the world fades to black, I feel something almost akin to relief.  At last, freedom.  I don’t know what the word means, and I lose consciousness before I can remember.

 

 


	8. End of the Line

 

I lie for a few seconds in the dark, hardly able to believe I’m still alive.  My eyes flash open, taking in my surroundings.  I’m still on the glass floor of the helicarrier, and I catch a flash of blue at the top of my vision.  It’s the Captain.  He’s climbed back onto the platform, heading for the computer terminal.  I have to stop him.  I raise my pistol and fire, hitting the back of his thigh.  He stumbles, and I hear his surprised cry.  He doesn’t stop, though.  I shoot him again, though I can’t tell where I hit him.  He is still advancing.  I aim carefully and shoot, hitting him in the lower abdomen.  This time, with a sharp inhalation, he goes down, his back against the computer terminal.  My lack of aim upsets me, but I’m still lightheaded from being strangled.  I stagger slightly, watching the target.  I can’t tell if he’s dead or simply incapacitated.  I see him struggle to the panel and place the chip in.  So I have failed to stop his plan.  I can still complete my mission, though.  I was assigned to kill him, and I will not fail.  He talks to someone I can’t see, presumably through a headpiece, something about firing now.  I can’t quite make it out.  Whatever he said, the helicarriers suddenly start firing on each other.  Being close to the outside, our location is hit hard.  Sparks fly, and debris is falling everywhere.  Suddenly, a huge metal beam crashes down on me, faster than I can dodge.  I cry out, the weight pinning me to the floor.  I fight to lift it, but it is too heavy, even for me. So this is the end.  These helicarriers are going down, and I’m going with them.  I claim some small satisfaction in knowing the Captain will go down with me.  I see the Captain jump down, coming towards me.  He failed to kill me the last time, so he’s trying again.  I know how this works.  Unless I escape, I’ll be helpless to defend myself.  I struggle once more to lift the beam, but again the weight is too much for me.  The Captain reaches me, but he doesn’t make any violent moves.  The helicarrier shifts, and he is thrown back.  I am confused.  Any good soldier would have killed me by now; and from all I know, Captain America is a perfect soldier.  So why am I still alive?  He crawls back over, standing to his feet.  I wait for the death blow, but instead of killing me, he is lifting the beam.  I strain against it, and, with both of our strengths, it moves enough for me to struggle free.  By now, whispers have begun to emerge.  I don’t know Captain America, yet somehow it seems natural for him to be saving me.  But it’s not natural, not at all.  It’s wrong.  This angers me.  I wait for him to attack me now that we are both free.  Instead, he simply leans on the bar, panting.

“You know me.” He says in a soft tone. 

Something about it seems comforting.  But I am the Winter Soldier.  No one is supposed to comfort me.  No one is supposed to care.  I’m a weapon, not a person.  A growl rises in my throat.

“No I don’t!” I throw back at him, and couple the words with a harsh blow to his face, the force of which causes me to stumble forward.  He falls against the floor, but soon rises again.

“Bucky,” he begins.

That name.  Bucky.  That is my name.  I know it.  But I can’t be him.  I am Winter Soldier, I don’t have a name, if I do, it is Winter Soldier.  How dare he suggest that I have a name? 

“You’ve known me your whole life”

No, no, I don’t know this man.  My mind screams that I have never met this man before, but my soul whispers just as persistently that I have.  I hate him for causing this conflict.  It’s ripping me apart.  I let out an animalistic roar, again lashing out at this staggering, blue-eyed man that dares claim I have a soul.  The follow-through of my swing throws me against the same beam he falls against. I rise slowly, the whispers growing into roars that drown out my training and force me to do what is forbidden: think.  I can’t be an emotionless weapon.  Not when something in me whispers that I was once so much more.  I am used to questions.  What I am not used to is answers, and this man keeps spouting them at me.  For no reason.  No mission depends on this information.  He just wants me to know.  As if I have a right to know anything. 

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he insists, still fighting for breath, but his voice is steady.

I need to stop these words.  They are wrong, they bring too much pain.  I’ve never known who I was, and I never cared.  I am the Winter Soldier. I was never anything else.  I was not James Buchanan Barnes.  That’s not me.  Yet somehow the name is familiar.  Images flash through my head, people that are familiar, yet unknown.  They call me James or Sergeant Barnes or Mr Barnes… The Captain is there too.  Smaller, frail, tousled blonde hair.  He calls me Bucky.  No, I need to stop this remembering, I need to stop this invasion of my mind.  The explosive force of my terror at these strange and unfamiliar images sparks another violent response.

“Shut up!” I scream, my voice raspy and hoarse from the sudden pangs of loss that shoot through my heart.  I lash out again, but this time only hit the Captain’s shield.  Some new part of my mind laughs softly.  _He never would back down from a fight_.  I don’t know the voice saying this.  It is mine, but it is also not mine.  ‘Who?’ I ask, my voice echoing into the darkness. _Steve._ It whispers, fading into the dark again.  Steve. Thinking of that name brings to mind the frail blonde boy from before.  The smaller Captain.  He is Steve.  Which also makes the Captain Steve.  Some shred of my training still fights against me, suppressing the memories, the emotions.  It partly succeeds.  Things begin slipping from my grasp as soon as I find them.  It hurts more than anything else I’d ever felt.  I begin to become the Winter Soldier again.  For a few seconds, I might have possibly been this Bucky, but not now.  I am the Winter Soldier, and I have a mission to complete.  Nothing can stop me.  I will not fail. I create a wall, but the other side of me fights to tear it down with claws of iron. The Captain takes off his mask, and I freeze.  Again, the boy from before springs to my mind.  I remember finding him bloodied and bruised in an alleyway.  He told me the other boys beat him up.  I take in the bruises on current Cap’s face.  Now I am just like those other boys.  Now I am the source of his pain.  A wave of sorrow and regret washes over me.  I can’t go through with this.  I can’t hurt Steve, but I have to.  It is my mission.  It is my purpose.

“I’m not gonna fight you,” he says softly, and he lets his beloved shield slip from his hands into the smoking abyss below.  Somehow his lack of resistance angers me, brings back whatever training I have left.  He should fight me.  I am a weapon, to be used and abused.  To fight and be fought against. He is a coward to refuse a fight.

“You’re my friend,” he says, his voice filling with emotion, despite his exhaustion.  He stands, so frail, yet so strong.  I know him, but I don’t.  I can’t.  He is my target.  Nothing can get in the way.  I let out a roar, charging into him and tackling him onto the glass floor, pinning him beneath me.  I look deep into his blue eyes. 

“You’re my mission.” I growl, my metal fist bursting into his face.  Memories of the park in summertime.  I would play baseball with the other boys, Steve would watch.  He was always too weak to play. I slam my fist into his face again, in an attempt to shut out the memories, but it only brings more.  Winters by his side as coughs wracked his frail body.  The fear that I might lose him.

“You’re. My. Mission!” I scream again, but it is only a vain attempt to convince myself. The flashes keep up with my merciless pounding.   The Stark Expo, Steve’s constant enlistment attempts, needles, battles, fire, train, white.  I try to hit him again, to take out this deep ache on him, but I can’t.  Not anymore.  This is wrong, and something in me knows it.  This is not how it’s supposed to be.

“Then finish it,” he chokes out, “Cause I’m with ya to the end of the line.”

I don’t know if he knows the power of that phrase, but it stops me in my tracks like a lightning bolt.  A searing pain shoots through my mind, and I hear the other voice echo him. _I’m with ya to the end of the line…_   These were my words, not his.  They reverberate through my mind, and, as if on cue, hundreds of memories play at once, bursting into my head.  It hurts, but at the same time it feels right.  Right.  It has been a long time since anything felt right.  It scares me. As soon as the memories appear, they are gone, and suddenly, debris falls onto the glass, sending the Captain – no,  Steve – plummeting into the dark water below.  My shock holds me back, hanging on to the helicarrier with one hand.  I want to remember, but it all seems to be fading, shrinking with Steve as he falls away.  I can’t let that happen.  I let go of the helicarrier, plummeting after him into the icy water.  I look down, spotting his figure sinking into the depths, and plunge into the darkness, reaching out and grip his shoulder before he can drift away forever.  I am careful to keep his head above water as I swim to shore.  Reaching shallow water, I let him drift to the ground, dragging him onto the shore.  When he is fully out of water, I gently loose my hold on him, letting him fall to the ground.  He is still bleeding, but not a dangerous amount.  His friends will find him in time.  His head moves, and he takes a breath.  I watch him for a second, then turn, walking into the forest.  _Who am I?_ I ask myself.   “I am a weapon, I am Winter Soldier…” my training automatically answers. But I am not.  Not anymore.  I am… I don’t know who I am.  Bucky, I suppose.  But I have come too far from then.  I cannot be Steve’s Bucky.  Not yet.  Perhaps one day. For now, I am a ghost, but someday, I will find myself, and I know Steve will be waiting.

 

 

 

 


End file.
